


Content

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hurt Steve Rogers, Insomnia, M/M, Meltdown, Nightmares, Physical Contact, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Bucky Barnes, Self-Harm, Steve Rogers Has PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 01:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6932836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nightmares get too much for Steve, so Bucky does his best to help. It helps them both to heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Content

Steve pulled his damp t-shirt over his head and threw it into his laundry hamper. He leaned his forearms against the wall of his bedroom, shivering at the sensation of cool air against his skin, covered in an uncomfortable sheen of sweat. A shaky sigh left him, the tremors spreading through his body like a plague and his heart hammered in his throat. A wave of nausea rolled through his stomach and he swallowed hard. He did not want to look back at his bed. The feeling of being sucked in was still hot and raw in his mind like a cattle brand, scarred into his frontal lobe for him to see as soon as he closed his eyes.

The tremors turned to silent sobs against the wall. He threw a punch against the plaster, the messy connection between his fist and the solid wall offering some satisfaction, so he repeated the action over and over, screaming low in his throat with each blow until the bones in his wrist cried out for him to stop.

He heard his door creak open.

"Go away, Natasha," Steve swallowed flatly, "I mean it, give me some space."

There was no reply, so Steve ignored the urge to keep his face lowered and hidden and turned towards the doorway. Bucky was standing in the threshold, a look of concern and slight fear painted on his face. He was holding a glass of water in one hand and a fresh t-shirt in the other. Bucky's room was a few along from Steve's, a toilet and Clint's room separating them. Steve was thankful for it; the nightmares were intensifying and the thought of worrying Bucky made him uncomfortable. Clint tended to turn off his hearing aids at night, so him hearing the outbursts was not an issue. Those long, blue-lit corridors of the Avengers complex had heard many nightmares over the last few months.

"Sorry," Bucky said quietly, "You need me to leave?"

Steve shook his head quickly, standing up straight and rubbing his eyes dry with the heels of his hands and sitting on the end of his bed. The shaking would not stop.

"No...no don't worry," Steve croaked, "I'm okay."

Bucky frowned and sat down next to Steve, handing the Captain the glass of water and steadying his hands whilst he drank it, almost having to guide it to his mouth to quell the shaking. Bucky set the t-shirt down and put his hand in the centre of Steve's back. He could feel the heat radiating off of him, an angry full-body blush that  Bucky could almost feel under his own skin. He replaced his own hand with the colder metal one, smiling as Steve blew out a sigh of content at the contrast in temperature.

"I just want to get some sleep," Steve mumbled at the floor, "I am trying so hard but every time I close..."

Steve shook his head, giving up as his words were strangled of by more impending tears. Bucky knew. He knew this pain, the frustration and the fear of being swallowed whole by your own mind. It was an utterly hopeless feeling, magnified astronomically by the fatigue that came with it.

"Let me stay with you tonight?" Bucky offered, "Please? Even if you don't sleep, the company might help."

Steve nodded, smiling weakly at the soldier. He let his head lull against Bucky's shoulder for a moment before standing up unsteadily and making his way to the right end of the bed. Bucky followed, watching as the Captain got into bed. He was wearing SHIELD sweatpants, the logo fading at the hip and the waistband of his boxers showing just above it where the drawstring was not tightened. Bucky still did not tend to wear pyjamas, being more comfortable staying clothed and ready. Old habits died hard. Steve always managed to wear them so well, looking truly comfortable when he did. Bucky felt as if he was lying to himself when he relaxed, because in truth, he never really was.

He laid down next to Steve, pulling him into the crook of his arm.

"You know," Bucky started, "You should just call me when this happens. I don't sleep much at night, so you wont wake me."

It was true. Bucky was near enough nocturnal, used to the routine of any mission he needed to attend occurring at night time, under a mask of darkness and a sprawling city that did not know his face. SHIELD used this to their advantage. Bucky was their discreet wildcard, dispatched when something needed dealing with efficiently and silently. The Avengers knew something was serious when Code: WINTER came up on their bleep screens. They also knew that the problem would soon be almost faultlessly extinguished.

"You worry about me. I don't like it when you worry, you worry enough," Steve said quietly, fatigue and the anti-climax of his emotions slurring his words a little.

Bucky sighed, squeezing Steve a little closer to his side. Steve relaxed even further, running his hand up under Bucky's shirt. His fingertips grazed over the skin lightly, making Bucky's breath hitch. The Captain's hands were cool, but not quite cold, just lower in temperature than Bucky's stomach. The sergeant found himself dozing into a comfortable half-sleep, Steve's new, calmer state rubbing off on him.

"Buck?"

"Mhm?"

"Is this difficult for you? The contact?"

Bucky thought about it. Steve was shivering still, deep in his muscles and Bucky knew all too vividly how that felt. Like your emotions had leeched everything that you had and left you just a quivering shell with holes for eyes, your lights had been turned off and you were empty. Knowing that Steve might be feeling even a fraction of that made Bucky's stomach sit uncomfortably. The physical contact was something that Bucky was honestly finding difficult to get used to. Not out of dislike for it, but out of a lack of practise; things were not supposed to feel good.

He was not allowed the pleasure of hands through his hair, and absent, lazy touches 'just because'. He was not supposed to feel arousal, heat or comfort. His body was made to get a job done by any means necessary, and it was unfamiliar territory for the soldier that it could be used to give and receive pleasure so readily. It made him nervous, but wildly intrigued him.

"Not too difficult," Bucky replied, "You...feel nice."

Steve nodded against Bucky's chest. It was pitch black now, the timer on the ceiling lights dimming slowly before flicking off completely with a dull click.

"You smell nice too, like shampoo and warmth. Like you. Just like you," Bucky continued, carding his hand through Steve's hair.

Steve hummed a quiet reply, the words merging incoherently and almost silently. It was a few moments before the slow, steady breaths turned to soft snores, muffled by body and blankets. Bucky shuffled himself down further into the bed, closing his eyes and letting his thoughts swim.

Sleeping at night was better than he had thought.


End file.
